Disclaimer: I donʼt own anything, all characters, places, action are taking directly from DHʼs chapters 34 and 36. I also took over some of the direct speeches, marked in italics, though I tried to shorten them as much as possible.
I hope youʼll enjoy reading and tell me how you find Narcissaʼs characterization.
Narcissa glanced into the darkness of the forest. From somewhere between these trees facing her the boy would come. He still had about ten minutes to march to his death. And despite all her discipline and reasoning, it bothered her. As hard as she tried, she couldnʼt stop to think about him as a boy, about two months younger than her son. Over and over again, she had to remind herself that he was the enemy. Compassion for the enemy was the last thing her family could be bothered with, there were more than enough other sources to bring them pain and humiliation.
But then... he was just a boy - like her son - and the idea of his corpse lying soon before her terrified her against her better judgement. The image of her own sonʼs motionless body somewhere up in the castle or in the grounds haunted her.
Narcissa saw his inanimate form everywhere before her inner eye, but despite this terror she still was condemned to hope because she didnʼt know. That was the worst part, she didnʼt know where he was, whether he was alive, why he was not with her. He was not being kept as a prisoner, she couldnʼt believe this as Nottʼs son had joined them. If the young Nott had been able to go, then everybody else certainly could. She hadnʼt dared to ask him if he knew anything about her son, but she had heard Crabbe ask about his. The young Nott didnʼt know.
And that was a really tricky thing, that Crabbe and that Goyle boy had remained in the castle too. The only explanation she could come up with was that Draco was planning something, but she had absolutely no idea what it could be. If the other two boys had not stayed behind with him, she would have been sure that Draco had changed sides. That had been her first guess and with amazement she had discovered that it didnʼt shock her at all, probably surprised her a bit, but mostly made her fear for him and the revenge that he would have to expect. But she had had to abandon this idea as she couldnʼt believe that he would have been able to persuade the other two boys.
To distract herself from ever new images her mind supplied of Dracoʼs corpse, she looked over the assembled crowd, the giants, the werewolves and fellow Snatchers, some Imperiused followers, students, and the Death Eaters. And in the middle the Dark Lord stood motionlessly, staring at his wand, her sister kneeling close to him.
Narcissa looked quickly to the ground, edging closer to her husband.
She needed to hide the feeling that she was a complete stranger to the assembly. For while everybody else awaited greedily the arrival of the boy, her most prominent emotion was hatred, a hatred that she had not known she could feel.
Of course, she had often scorned and derided people, but never wasted her energy on hating them. If she could only hate like the others did, like she was expected to hate, she would not have any problem, but she couldnʼt direct her hatred at the boy, nor at anyone in the castle. Her hatred was reserved exclusively for the Dark Lord, the man who had tortured her, degraded her husband and, most of all, made her son miserable. She wanted revenge, somehow making him pay for what he had done to Draco. And it was not just the physical suffering that he had put him through though that would have been more than sufficient to make her wish on him all the plagues of the world. No, she had seen enough and knew her son too well to understand that he could never be happy as long as the Dark Lord ruled.
But there was no chance that the Dark Lord would fall and thus she was forced to serve on to at least alleviate Dracoʼs pain. All she could do was to look after her family and to hide her feelings so that nobody would guess them. Her sister would kill her if she knew even the tiniest part of them.
Out of the corner of her eye, she observed Bellatrix, how her sister edged as close as possible to that man who had scorned her repeatedly, who had absolutely no respect to anyone. Narcissa had never felt very close to her sister, fearing her too much even when they had been little, but Bella was her sister and she had thought it her duty to love her. As it had been her duty to abandon Dromeda. And now she hated them both, Andromeda for having forsaken her by marrying filth and Bellatrix who also preferred a stranger over her own family. Narcissa had never considered anything more important than her husband and then, when he was born, her son, whom she loved with an unconditionality she had not known could exist before his tiny form had laid in her arms.
Before her marriage, she had loved her parents, her sisters, her aunts and uncles, her cousins. And one after the other they had disappeared. First Andromeda had betrayed them, then Sirius had ran away, two years later Regulus had disappeared and his father died, Evan had been killed, Bellatrix sent to prison and then the others had died successively of grief or age. Only husband and son had been left to her and while she had had them around and saw them contented, she had wished for nothing else and supported them in every single project, even when it had appeared to her slightly ridiculous like Dracoʼs Quidditch ambitions. How long ago it seemed that Draco only wanted to play Quidditch!
Where was Draco? She would give anything to know that he was safe, or at least alive. What was he doing up in the school? If his survival might not depend on this question, it would have been of very little interest for her as long as he lived, her only desire being to have him in her arms again, safe and sound.
She glanced again at the direction where the boy should come. She agreed with the Dark Lord that the boy would do so. After all, he had already gone to some lengths to safe the Granger girl instead of fleeing with the other prisoners. And when he stepped into their midst, he would be dead in a heartbeat. There could be no doubt about it. And the boy would lie on the ground and she didnʼt know whether Draco didnʼt lay somewhere else, cold and lifeless.
Somehow she was unable to think of Harry Potterʼs certain death without connecting her sonʼs fate to it. After all, there was no connection between them, between their destinies, so that she didnʼt have to care about what happened to Harry Potter. It was as ridiculous as to be shocked that Bella had killed Dromedaʼs daughter. Only because her sister had lost her child, that didnʼt mean that her son would be killed too. Dromedaʼs husband was already dead for some time and Lucius was still alive. Though that horrible scene at home had happened shortly after the death of Dromedaʼs husband. But compared to Dromeda she was lucky still. If only Draco was well. Nymphadora was already dead, and Harry Potter might even now be walking towards his end. And she didnʼt know what Draco was doing. Harry Potterʼs corpse would soon fall before them and be mistreated. And she didnʼt know whether Draco lay somewhere too, suffering or dead and despised.
She glanced over to Luciusʼs terrified expression and wondered whether he paralleled the boys too. Or whether he was just thinking about what was going to happen to them if Draco really had sided with those in the castle... the castle in which she had spent seven years of her life, learnt from many who now faced them for deadly battle. She had once handed in homework to McGonagall and Flitwick, what should she fight them for?
Although that would not happen anyway, she had no wand. Neither had Lucius. Draco had her wand, it was a consolation that he could defend himself. If he was still able to do anything.
And where was Severus? Lucius had said the Dark Lord wanted to see him, and now he was nowhere to be seen. If he had only returned to the castle, probably some top secret mission, then he might find Draco and he would help him, he undoubtedly would help him. It was downright physically painful to imagine Draco in need of help. She clasped a hand to her chest and bent her head.
Leaves rustled. She lifted her head a little, half expecting the Potter boy advancing towards them. It was only Dolohov and Yaxley.
ʻNo sign of him, my Lord,ʼ said Dolohov.
Probably the boy didnʼt come after all, probably they were evacuating the castle again, fleeing. Probably Draco was fleeing too, probably he stood a chance. If she could only make sure that the Dark Lord couldnʼt hurt him...
ʻMy Lord-ʼ she heard her sister murmur.
Narcissa couldnʼt understand Bellatrix and her sister wouldnʼt understand her. She glanced over to her and felt alien, far away from the crowd that centred around the Dark Lord while every fibre of her being just yearned for one tiny bit of information about her son.
Harry Potter might know about Draco. But he didnʼt come. And she couldnʼt ask him anyway. Jump forwards before the Dark Lord killed him and ask. She would be the laughingstock for years to come. If she would survive her stupidity. It might be worth it though. If the boy could tell her about Draco. But why would he? Facing death, not even she could expect him to want to discuss her son.
ʻI thought he would come,ʼ said the Dark Lord. ʻI expected him to come.ʼ
She felt some grim satisfaction at what she hoped was his disappointment. At least, things werenʼt going as he had expected, and in her situation, she was willing to savour everything that even remotely displeased him.
ʻI was, it seems... mistaken.ʼ
ʻYou werenʼt.ʼ
Narcissa turned her head so hastily her neck cracked. The boy was walking into their midst.
She slowly got to her feet in synchrony with the others, who shouted and cheered; though, as she contemplated the boy, he didnʼt look as if he could be a threat to anyone. He had not even drawn his wand. He just walked nearer, calm and unconcerned.
ʻHARRY! NO! NO! NO! WHATʼRE YEH-?ʼ
ʻQUIET!ʼ
The half-giant had yelled out and been silenced, but Narcissa didnʼt turn like Potter. She was staring at the boy, forcing herself to breath calmly. He was a bit smaller than Draco, she noticed, or remembered, or it was just a fleeting impression. But she could think of nothing but Draco. And she suddenly was certain: if the boy died, that would mean Dracoʼs death. A small part of her brain informed her that this was idiotic, but she ignored it. The boy was going to die and so was Draco.
ʻHarry Potter,ʼ said the Dark Lord. ʻThe boy who lived.ʼ
The boyʼs expression remained untroubled. He did not move at all, showed no sign of defence.
As the green light filled the clearing she turned her head and pressed herself against Luciusʼs chest, trying to remind herself that this meant nothing for Draco and yet desperation and anguish throttling her.
There were some gasps she couldnʼt comprehend. Nobody jubilated. Instead, feet hurried towards the Dark Lord. Lucius laid an arm around her and led her in the same direction everybody else went. Mystified, she looked up. Lucius having turned her around, she was facing the Dark Lord, lying on the ground. But simultaneously she saw that he was moving. She watched with confusion as her sister bent over him, whispering with adoring care.
ʻThat will do,ʼ said the Dark Lord, getting to his feet again.
Lucius moved hastily back into line, dragging her with him. She didnʼt know what had happened, what all this meant, but she didnʼt have the power to turn to Lucius to ask, or to move any muscle at all. Her face felt frozen.
ʻMy Lord, let me─ʼ she could hear her sister murmur with a concern that disgusted Narcissa.
ʻI do not require assistance. The boy... is he dead?ʼ
In her puzzlement at the senseless question, Narcissa turned her head with every one else and for the first time she saw the boy lying on the forest ground like the Dark Lord a moment ago. But the boy didnʼt move. He was dead. Draco was dead.
It felt as if all her inner organs had been removed in an instant and her skin was but an empty shell, far too light for the world and removed from any earthen sorrows. Completely against her expectation, she calmly accepted her sonʼs end as she turned to the Dark Lord with the equally strange conviction that she was looking at her sonʼs murderer.
ʻYou,ʼ the Dark Lord said suddenly, and an invisible slap made her stagger several steps away from Lucius and she gasped involuntarily. Nobody sniggered, they all were eyeing the boy with fearful expressions, the Dark Lord inclusive. ʻExamine him. Tell me whether he is dead.ʼ
Her feeling of lightness almost made her laugh at this pettish fear. Draco was gone and her life had ended, only the knowledge that Lucius could still be hurt kept her from mocking the Dark Lord on the spot, scorning him and the others who were afraid of the corpse of a boy. So she obediently stepped out of the line of Death Eaters towards the boy.
Harry Potter was a crumbled mass of human limbs on the forest ground. And somewhere else lay the corpse of Draco. If she could only have his corpse! Suddenly the desperation was back and only a life of self-discipline enabled her to make the last step towards the body with an indifferent expression.
She kneeled down beside the boy, leaned over him as she softly touched his face. It was still warm, but that was natural, he was not even dead a minute. Wishing to hide her face, no longer confident whether she could keep her composure, she let her hair fall forward as she gazed at the young, lifeless face. She pulled back an eyelid. The eyeball seemed to twitch, but that had to be her imagination. A soft breeze on her hand that she had near the boyʼs nose baffled her.
Mechanically, she let her hand wander to the boyʼs chest, her breathing accelerating as she felt his throat move slightly. She leant further forward, letting her hair also hide the boyʼs face as her hand rested on his chest where she could feel the regular beats of his heart.
She didnʼt know what it meant, she didnʼt know how it was possible and neither did she care. This was the chance she had craved and she could think of only one thing as she bent even lower until her mouth was right over the boyʼs ear.
ʻIs Draco alive? Is he in the castle?ʼ
There was a moment of silence during which she stopped breathing, nearly bursting with a wild mixture of feelings.
ʻYes,ʼ breathed the boy after the longest seconds in Narcissaʼs life.
Yes. The boy was alive, Draco was alive, and she believed for a second that she was going to faint.
Then she regained her control. If she wanted to see Draco again, they had to go back to the castle. There was only one possibility.
Assuming her former impassive expression, she turned to the nervous crowd, sitting up.
ʻHe is dead!ʼ
Not only her voice was clear, calm and steady. She felt secure now, for the first time in several years, she feared nothing. While the shouts erupted around her and the others cheered and celebrated she strode back to her husband. Lucius smiled timidly at her, trying to appear to partake in the general gaiety while she knew that he was despairing over their son. She reached out to press his hand, hoping to be able to convey some of her calm to him.
ʻYou see?ʼ The Dark Lordʼs sudden cry froze her in the midst of her stride, her hand hovering in mid-air. ʻHarry Potter is dead by my hand, and no man alive can threaten me now! Watch! Crucio!ʼ
Panicking, Narcissa watched Harry Potterʼs body rise into the air. Any moment he would start screaming, any moment she would die, drawing Lucius with her. Then, when the body was hurtling into the air the second time, she realised that the boy would not scream. He remained limp and apparently lifeless.
She staggered back, her husband catching her before she could fall. This was impossible. She knew that the boy lived as she knew that Draco lived. And then the simple truth hit her. The Dark Lord could not harm Harry Potter.
A mad shriek of laughter escaped her throat, but the sound was lost in the general jeering. She saw her husbandʼs surprised face at her sudden demonstration of glee and lifted a hand to softly stroke his cheek, forcing her triumphant expression into blankness again. For she felt triumphant, she gloried in what was her vengeance. She had used the only way to revenge the sufferings of her son. The Dark Lord could not hurt the boy, so the boy would win, and Draco would be safe.
Cradled in Luciusʼs arms, she was able to watch with apparent indifference as the half-giant was dragged towards the boy and had to lift him up. That was another good omen. Harry Potter was now nearest to an ally of his who was so beside himself with grief that he wouldnʼt pay too much attention on anything. And he wouldnʼt have time to look too closely at the boy anyway, being a prisoner.
Swiftly, they all fell in a line behind the half-giant, Narcissa taking her husbandʼs arm as they marched behind the other Death Eaters, all making much noise and certainly not paying attention to the boy. She could just make out the half-giant from where she walked, quickening her step to do not get too close to the following giants.
There was so much noise that her ears started to ache. Leaning against her husbandʼs shoulder, she continued gazing at the back of the half-giant carrying the boy. Slowly her triumphant mood receded enough to make her think again. What was going to happen?
First, they would go to the castle. There everybody would suppose that the boy was dead. Then they would either continue to fight or they would give up. If the fighters gave up, she would find her son again. But there was a fair chance that he would be killed, having stayed in the castle, before Harry Potter could defeat the Dark Lord. So she must hope that they continued to resist, that Harry Potter could attack at the perfect moment and that this unexpected turn would encourage his allies enough to give them victory. In a battle, she might be able to look for her son and then escape with her family. If Harry Potter won, then they would be safe.
She couldnʼt close her eyes to the fact that this was a risky undertaking and she would have been certain that it had to fail, but after all, Harry Potter had survived a Killing Curse twice and could not feel the Cruciatus curse. So, anything was possible.
She glanced up at her husband, whose expression was still full of fear. But she didnʼt dare to speak. If everything went the impossible way she suddenly considered the most likely, he would know soon enough that Draco was alive. And he would know what she had just done. If he were her sister, he would turn against her immediately. Would he understand her motives or would he consider her a traitress? She studied his features so intensely that he turned to look at her with some surprise that didnʼt hide his more prominent emotions. Apart from the desperation that was since Easter engraved on his face, she saw only worry as he watched her. She smiled weakly and quickly looked down, pressing his arm, but preferring to stay silent.
Slowly, their surroundings became brighter. Their progression was shortly hindered as the half-giant shouted at some centaur that were lined along the way they passed and looked aggressive, but didnʼt seem to dare to strike. Still, Narcissa was glad when they were past them and out of the forest.
There they needed to stop again as the Dark Lord stepped forward to threaten the castle with his false news.
She heard his speech without listening to it as he retold his illusions to the people in the castle. Her eyes were fixed on the doors to the Entrance Hall. Somewhere behind these was Draco, hearing that Harry Potter was dead. If she could only somehow tell him not to worry...
The train of the Dark Lordʼs followers moved forwards again, Narcissa walking automatically along. With every step they made towards the castle she became more nervous, avidly searching with her eyes over every crevice in the walls of the castle, wishing and fearing to see Draco. He better stayed hidden before the Dark Lord until all was over...
Her certainty wavered. It was anything but given that the Dark Lord would be vanquished. If she considered it rationally, this was most unlikely.
Light emanated from inside the castle as they formed a line before the front doors. And slowly, there started people to walk out and face them.
She had no difficulty in recognising McGonagall as she marched out of the castle first. The following scream and look of horror on the Professorʼs face was less common for McGonagall, but Narcissa spent no time considering this, her eyes racing over the faces of the other survivor.
There was no Draco. She knew that she had hoped Draco would not come out, but the doubt his absence raised in her was painfully acute.
Others started to scream in despair and she began her study of the faces before her anew. There were his two friends, Granger and Weasley, who had been with Potter at the Manor, and the red-haired girl who had to be kept back by her father had to be a Weasley too. At least, she was quite certain that the man was Arthur Weasley.
With a streak of his wand the Dark Lord silenced the crowd, but she continued her survey, unperturbed by the Dark Lordʼs babbling. There was the Weasley woman as well as several other red-heads who certainly belonged to them.
From the periphery of her view she saw how Harry Potter was lowered to the ground. That was good, the boy had more room to move and was less visible. She hastily turned her attention again to the people in front of her. The girl who had been in their cellar was there and she thought she recognized a dark boy who might have been brought into the manor with Potter. She easily identified Professors Flitwick and Sprout. But all the other faces she didnʼt know, and most certainly were not Dracoʼs. Draco was not there.
She tried to persuade herself that this was a good sign when the crowd started to cry out again. Bewildered, she witnessed the Dark Lord silencing them once more, but it was strange. His spell should have worked the first time. She looked down to the boy who had not moved so far.
A sudden commotion in the crowd made her turn. A boy of about the same age as Draco or Potter lay on the ground, hastily scrambling to his feet again.
ʻAnd who is this?ʼ said the Dark Lord. ʻWho has volunteered to demonstrate what happens to those who continue to fight when the battle is lost?ʼ
ʻIt is Neville Longbottom, my Lord!ʼ exclaimed her sister with a laugh. ʻThe boy who has been giving the Carrows so much trouble! The son of the Aurors, remember?ʼ
So she had been right about the boyʼs age. She vaguely recalled that her sister had done something horrible to his parents, but she didnʼt waste her time on trying to remember any details. She glanced back to the Potter boy who still didnʼt move. When would he decide to act? And how? She knotted her hands to hide her nervousness.
The crowd began to shout again, rebelliously this time. Narcissa looked back to them. The Dark Lord couldnʼt curse them into silence. He had not been able to kill the boy, to torture him, and now he failed to silence a crowd. She didnʼt know why this was the matter, but everything seemed to indicate that the Dark Lord couldnʼt win anymore. And the most impressive thing was, he didnʼt know.
A movement in the crowd turned her attention to Longbottom again who stood entirely rigid on the spot as the Dark Lord forced an old hat on his head. Disinterested - after all she had witnessed, she now was certain that nothing could happen to the victim - she concentrated on Potterʼs body again. Screams and red light she saw from the corner of her eye told her that Longbottom was on fire.
In one unexpected uproar, her surroundings suddenly changed. There was shouting everywhere, people, centaurs and a giant ran towards them, but after the first shock Narcissaʼs eyes flickered back to the boy who finally moved, quickly throwing something around himself and vanishing.
And then a sword flashed through the air, cleanly cutting off the head of the Dark Lordʼs snake, causing it to propel through the air.
Not waiting for anything else to happen, she gripped her husbandʼs hand and started to run, away from the oncoming mass, after the crowd who retreated into the castle in chaos. She tried to wind her way into the Entrance Hall, ducking as spells soared around them, the other Death Eaters also taking refuge in the hall. Meanwhile, the first of the newcomers were approaching, but finally she managed to tear her husband through the front door, passing with relative ease on into the Great Hall. It looked strange to Narcissa; though she had not been in the place for a long time, she had expected the tables to still stand around. Without them, the Hall seemed even larger than she remembered.
Everything was in a huge commotion and she couldnʼt make out any individuals. She turned to her husband, seeing that he too was searching the hall frantically. Before she could say anything, they had to spring aside to avoid a horde of centaurs galloping into the hall. She looked around again, helpless how she could find her son in the turmoil.
Suddenly she was shoved aside, away from Lucius. As she staggered back, she looked to the floor, watching in amazement as numberless house-elves hurried past her, swinging knives and other kitchen utensils.
She tried to fight her way back to Lucius, but he was already out of sight, lost in the crowd.
ʻDraco?ʼ she cried, forgetting all restraint. Repeatedly screaming out her sonʼs name, she ran around the hall, letting herself be carry by the general flow. She couldnʼt see him anywhere and her panic increased.
Lowering her eyes, she saw Flitwick fighting a short distance away from her. Without thinking, she squeezed her way towards him.
ʻProfessor!ʼ she yelped, falling to her knees, so that she was eye to eye with him, and clasping his wand free hand in hers. He turned to her, looking utterly perplexed. ʻHave you seen my son? Do you know where Draco is?ʼ
Flitwick tried to free his hand from her grip, at the same time somehow succeeding in Stunning a Death Eater without looking. ʻHe should be in the library,ʼ he finally said. ʻHe didnʼt have a wand-ʼ
Narcissa wasnʼt listening anymore. She had jumped up to her feet, intending to make her way back out of the hall.
ʻNOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!ʼ
She couldnʼt tell why this sudden scream diverted her, probably because there was an emotion to it that was in absolute harmony with her own. She watched the plump, red-haired witch she had identified as Weasleyʼs wife run to a spot not all too far off from where she was standing. Narcissa turned her head to the womanʼs goal.
It was her sister, laughing madly.
Narcissa stared at her, trying to feel something, but she didnʼt. With astonishment and shock she realised that she didnʼt care what became of her sister. Blood started to rush in her ears, drowning out every other sound, her view tunnelled. She wanted to turn, to resume the search for her son, but despite all the emptiness she couldnʼt withdraw her eyes from her sister whose gloating quickly changed into wild fury. She wanted to worry about her sister, fear for her, but still, though the fight grew more heated by the second, she didnʼt care about her. She saw Bellatrix dance around, her face mad and perversely excited.
Narcissa made a staggering step backwards, though she kept her eyes on her sisterʼs face, saw it move and speak. She saw her sister laugh, frenzied and out of control, she saw a flash of light striking in her sisterʼs chest, she saw her sister topple, her sister fall. Her sisterʼs dead body hit the floor.
A piercing scream ripped her out of her trance and she remembered why she was here. She had to find Draco. And while the people around her broke into screams and cheers, informing her that the Potter boy had become visible for them again, she turned on her heel, away from the scene everybody else was staring at, intending to head out of the hall.
Her eyes fell right on the slender figure, standing undecidedly in the doorway of the Great Hall. She didnʼt hear the words Potter spoke, nor did she pay attention to the Dark Lordʼs answers. Staggering and teetering, she half ran, half stumbled away from everyone else, towards the only goal she cared for. The distance seemed to expand, separating her from her child, but after a moment that seemed far too long to her she was close enough to throw her arms around him and press him against her, never wanting to let go again.
Draco was taller than she was. Strangely she had been expecting a much smaller person and she could but beam and cry while she stared avidly at her son, as if she had not seen him for years and needed to take in countless changes in his appearance. He attempted to smile at her, looking tired and frightened and repeatedly glimpsing at the scene from which Narcissa had just run. She didnʼt waste any time observing the Dark Lord and the Potter boy, she didnʼt doubt the victor and feared nothing, but to lose a second in which she couldnʼt see Dracoʼs face.
Draco shuddered, his eyes fixed on the duel and some other people seemed to have drawn breath too. She had not heard what caused the reaction and she didnʼt waste her time thinking about it. She observed her sonʼs face, saw signs of ashes there and some of his hair was singed too, easily visible because it was so blond. Some traces of dried blood were around his mouth, but it didnʼt look as if the damage could not be fixed with easy charms. She gripped his hands and looked at them. They were also a bit blackened, but unharmed, he could stand on his own, he was in possession of all of his senses. He was perfect.
She through her arms around him again, just needing to feel him, safe and unscathed. The Dark Lord and the Potter boy were still talking, everybody listening with rapt attention, including Draco, yet she registered nothing of what they said.
Faint footsteps approaching them made her lift her head, meaning far more to her than Potterʼs speeches. Lucius laid a hand on Dracoʼs shoulder, with the other he grabbed her hand. But he too kept his attention on the duellists though he threw strange looks at her from time to time.
ʻ... Draco Malfoy.ʼ
Her sonʼs name, pronounced by Potter, forced her to remember that the Dark Lord and the boy were facing each other. Frightened by the meaning of the sudden mention of her sonʼs name, she turned for the first time to look at the fighters.
ʻBut what does it matter?ʼ hissed the Dark Lord, making her tremble though she had no idea what he was talking about. ʻEven if you are right, Potter, it makes no difference to you and me. You no longer have the phoenix wand: we duel on skill alone... and after I have killed you, I can attend to Draco Malfoy...ʼ
A terrified moan escaped her, understanding all too well the meaning of the last sentence although she didnʼt know what was going on. Her son had started to tremble.
ʻBut youʼre too late,ʼ said Potter, bringing back a bit of calm to Narcissa. ʻYouʼve missed your chance I got there first. I overpowered Draco weeks ago. I took his wand from him.ʼ
Narcissa was totally ignorant of what he was talking, it was good enough for her that Potterʼs words sounded like good news. Tears filled her eyes and she didnʼt think about why she was suddenly so grateful that Draco had lost his wand.
She lost her interest in the duellists again, turning to her son who was still shaking. She looked up at him, just as the sun came out and threw a dazzling light on everything. The duellers screamed their spells, red and green lightened the hall with a loud bang and then there was silence. Draco froze.
Narcissa just intended to consider the necessity to turn her head when the deafening cheers told her what had happened and she spared herself the trouble, rejoicing in the relief that was painted on Dracoʼs face.
It had happened, it was over. Everything had gone the impossible turns she had foreseen and her son would be safe again. She let go of Draco, threw her arms around Lucius instead and started to sob.